The Remnants of Yesterday

by Anthony M. Strong

  “Me either.” My eyes roamed our surroundings, looking for the best way through. On our right was the cockpit, while on the left the remains of what was probably business class fell away on a downward slope until it ended in a mess of twisted, torn metal. I counted ten seats, most were empty, but two were not. The passengers, both male as far as I could tell, were still strapped in. One wore a gray suit, now ripped and dirty, the other a shredded polo shirt. It didn’t look like this part of the plane had burned. Maybe it detached upon impact and was spared the almighty fireball that surely ensued as the jet fuel ignited. Despite that, these two hadn’t fared any better than the burned up passengers in the rear sections. Their bodies were shredded, pummeled by flying debris and deadly shards of metal until they looked like they had been pushed through a meat grinder. A sickly smell of cooked meat mixed with an overpowering stench of jet fuel lingered in the air.

  “Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.” Clara was shaking, and her bottom lip trembled. She gripped my shoulder.

  “Don’t look at them. Just turn away.”

  “I’m not sure that will do any good.” Her voice wavered as she spoke. She covered her mouth with one hand, the other still gripping my shoulder like a vice.

  “Let’s just keep moving.” I heaved a service cart aside. It teetered for a moment, and then toppled, tumbling down the aisle and out into the emptiness beyond. A few moments later there was a thud as it smacked into the hillside somewhere far below us. “Try to focus your attention ahead.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good.” I took her hand and led her forward, picking my footfalls with care as I worked forward toward a large opening ripped out of the fuselage ahead. Even so, the wreckage shifted under our weight. I stopped and waited, praying that it would not slip from the road and tumble down the hillside, carrying us with it.

  “We’re moving,” Clara said, gripping my hand tight.

  “It’s fine, just keep still for a moment, it will settle down.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then we run for the opening as quick as we can and hope we make it,” I said, doing my best to keep my balance on the shifting debris.

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” Clara replied. “Got anything else?”

  “No.” I felt the craft tremble, and for a moment thought it would go over the edge, but then, mercifully, it settled back down. After a few moments, sensing that the worst was over, I chanced a step forward. The wreckage held. “I think we’re fine.”

  “Great. Let’s not linger.” Clara followed me, keeping her eyes down toward the ground.

  I stepped over a suitcase, its contents spilled across the floor. To my right was the cockpit, the door buckled and torn from its hinges. Unable to help myself I glanced inside, steeling myself against the sight of the traumatized bodies I was sure to find, but the cockpit was empty, the seats strewn with glass from the broken windshield and pieces of the crushed instrument panels.

  “Where are the pilots?” Clara voiced what I was thinking.

  “No idea. Maybe they got out.” But I didn’t believe it myself. It was unlikely they would have survived such a devastating impact. There was little time to reflect on it however. The front section of the plane could lose its battle with gravity and plummet down the hillside at any moment, and I didn’t want to be there when it did. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  We climbed forward, moving a little faster as we neared the torn hole that served as our escape from the wreck. There should have been a passenger door, but the shell of the plane was stripped away exposing the interior supports between the outer skin and the passenger sections. All that remained was one twisted hinge. Wiring and the remains of an overhead locker hung down, partially blocking the hole. Below that was a drop of almost six feet.

  “We’re pretty high up,” Clara said, peering over.

  “I know.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll jump.” I felt my throat tighten as I said the words. Jumping was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Together?” Clara asked, a look of panic on her face.

  “I’ll go first,” I said. “I think I can make it if I’m careful, then I’ll help you.”

  “Are you sure?” Clara said. “Maybe we should find something to use to climb down.”

  “We don’t have the time,” I told her. “This section of the plane isn’t safe. With all the moving around we’ve been doing it could go at any time.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Sure as I’ll ever be.” I took a step to the edge of the hole and looked down. The ground below was broken and cracked, parts of the asphalt missing entirely. Pieces of the plane, jagged and sharp, were scattered around, along with all manner of personal belongings, shoes, coats, carry-on bags and even a stuffed bear with one arm missing and white fluffy stuffing poking through the wound.

  “Here goes,” I said, trying to control the slight quaver in my voice. There wasn’t much margin for error. If I didn’t land exactly in the right place I might go over the edge, or worse, impale myself on a piece of wreckage. Finally, realizing it was now or never, I took a deep breath, and launched myself out of the airplane.

  The ground rushed up fast.

  I prepared for the worst, falling down the slope to my death, breaking an ankle, or landing on one of the wicked sharp pieces of debris. Incredibly, none of that happened. Instead I hit the ground square, my legs buckling under me and absorbing the impact. I dropped to my knees, putting my hands out to break my fall.

  “Are you alright?” Clara’s voice sounded from above.

  I looked up to see her peering out of the hole.

  “Yes. I think so.” I stood up, wary of any unforeseen injury, but I was fine. I’d made it.

  “What about me?” Clara asked.

  “You’re next. You are going to jump and I will catch you.” I planted my feet and reached up, letting her know I was ready. “Come on.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head.

  “Yes you can.”

  “It’s too far. I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be. I won’t let anything happen to you,” I shouted up to her. “But you have to jump. It’s the only way.”

  “Well–“

  “Just do it. Don’t think about it,” I said, coaxing her. “Do it right now.”

  “Just make sure you catch me, okay?” She stepped to the edge, a look of determination on her face, and stepped off the side of the airplane.

  She dropped toward me fast. At the last moment, just before she hit the ground, I closed my arms around her and together we tumbled backward. She landed on top of me, her body pressed against mine, and there we lay not moving for the longest time. Then, when she realized we were both fine, she pushed herself up, dusted herself off and said, “let’s go.”

  12

  IT TOOK ANOTHER TWO and a half hours to reach the next exit, and by the time we got there, we had witnessed enough death to last a lifetime. We didn’t talk about the airplane with the bodies still strapped into their seats. There was enough carnage ahead of us on the highway without thinking about the gruesome sight inside the wrecked plane. Once in a while we came across an empty stretch of road, and that was a welcome respite, but there were always more wrecks up ahead, more broken and burned bodies.

  Two hours into our journey, however, I began to notice a trend. Some of the cars and trucks lacked occupants, just like the car at the bottom of the off ramp, and the plane’s cockpit. A few vehicles stood with their doors ajar, which clearly indicated that the people inside had escaped unharmed, or at least with minimal injury. Others were so totally wrecked it seemed impossible that anyone could have survived. Some, those that hadn’t burned, still had seat belts buckled, despite being devoid of their human cargo. Try as I might to figure it out, a rational explanation eluded me, and in the end I gave up trying.

  After leaving the interstate behind, we walked for a while lost in
our own thoughts. It seemed neither of us felt inclined to engage in idle chat after the horrors of the highway. We still encountered the odd car, but these didn’t display anywhere near the level of damage, and they were all empty, much to my relief.

  After a while, we reached a small side road and turned up it, finding ourselves at a set of wrought iron gates flanked by two large brick pillars. An ornate arch spanned the gap between them. White painted lettering followed the curve of the arch.

  Ripton College.

  “This is it.” Clara looked back at me, her face full of hope, and worry, then stepped past the gates. “Come on.”

  We traversed a long driveway flanked by centuries old oak trees that formed a corridor leading to the main campus, which was dominated by a large house that looked like it dated back to the nineteenth century, or even earlier.

  The driveway exited the trees and split in two, running off to each side of a large three-tiered fountain, only to swoop back inward in front of the house. To the left and right of the driveway were other buildings, some old, some new. The mix of modern construction and classical architecture should have been strange together, but somehow it worked, each structure offsetting and complimenting the others. Clara made a beeline for the main building, her feet crunching on the gravel driveway as she walked.

  “It looks old,” I said as we approached the building and climbed the steps to the main entrance. “Really old.”

  “It is,” she said. “The main house dates back to 1855. It was built for a general in the Civil War. I don’t remember which one. It was gifted to the college after the Second World War when the last heir died.”

  “Nice.” I glanced around. The place seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Clara said, approaching the door. “It’s usually really busy at this time of the day.”

  “Maybe they evacuated the place?” I could think of no other reason why the school would be deserted.

  “I don’t think so.” Clara glanced toward the parking area. “There are still cars here, and besides, how would they do it, the highway is pretty much impassable.” She took a swipe card from her pocket and ran it through a reader. A buzzer sounded and the door clicked open, granting us access.

  We stepped across the threshold into a large foyer, the walls covered with portraits in ornate gold frames. An imposing grand staircase of dark polished wood dominated the center of the room. Corridors ran to the left and the right.

  Clara paused for a moment, clearly disappointed. Her eyes wandered from the staircase to the corridors, then up to the floor above. “Damn. I thought we might find someone here.”

  “Sorry.” I had hoped there would be some sign of life inside the building, but it was becoming clear that we were on our own. “What now?”

  “We go to the dorms, maybe someone will be there.”

  13

  THE INSIDE OF THE BUILDING smelled musty in that odd dusty way that academic institutions often do. Clara led me past the staircase, down a narrow corridor, and through a back door that opened out onto a central courtyard surrounded by three more buildings. This area too was empty, but Clara did not stop to ponder upon it.

  She hurried across the courtyard, making a beeline for the furthest building, her feet crunching the gravel underfoot as she went. When we reached the largest of the buildings, she stopped and pulled the key card out once more.

  “These are the dorms.” She swiped the key card for a second time, and then pushed the door open and stepped inside, her face falling when she saw that this space was also abandoned.

  “I was hoping…”

  “I know.” I cut her off. “Where’s your room?”

  “This way.” She moved toward a set of narrow stairs and started to climb. When we reached the third floor, she led me down a long corridor and stopped at a plain brown door.

  “This is my room.” She swiped her card through yet another reader, and stepped inside.

  I followed her, letting the door close behind us, and then took stock of my surroundings. The room was small but comfortable, with two beds, one against each wall. Two small closets framed a lead paned window on the far wall. Under the window was a desk cluttered with books of all shapes and sizes.

  Clara stood in the middle of the room, a look of disappointment on her face. “She’s not here.”

  “Who?”

  “Shelly, my roommate.” She turned to me. “I know it seems silly. We haven’t seen anyone else on campus, but I was hoping she was here. I wanted her to be safe.”

  “She might be. Just because she’s not here…” I trailed off. A part of me wanted to reassure her, but another part of me, a bigger part, knew that Shelly might be anything but safe. We had no idea where the faculty and student body had gone, and although it was comforting to think they were somehow evacuated, rescued by a passing National Guard unit or airlifted out, it didn’t seem likely given all we’d seen so far.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Clara sniffed and wiped away a tear. She took her backpack off and threw it on the nearest bed, then stepped over to the desk and pulled a laptop from the drawer.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “The internet. We can find out what’s going on.”

  “Of course.” I hadn’t thought of that. The cell phones might be out of action, but maybe we could still get on the web.

  She bent down and plugged in the charger. “I’m sure the battery is dead.”

  We waited while the machine booted, which seemed to take a frustratingly long time. She tapped in a password at the prompt, and then opened up the web browser.

  She turned to me. “Thank God. We have a wireless signal. What should we try?”

  “CNN?”

  She typed in the URL.

  The browser instantly returned the message SERVER NOT FOUND.

  “Damn.” She typed another domain into the browser. The same message popped up. “I don’t get it. The computer says it has a wireless signal.”

  I got it though. “We do have a signal from the router. I bet the router doesn’t have an outside Internet connection.”

  “You’re right.” She looked glum.

  “Hey, cheer up,” I said. “I didn’t even think of it.”

  “Oh well. It was worth a try.” She stood for a few moments looking at the useless laptop, and then shrugged and turned back toward me. “You should charge your cell phone.”

  “What’s the point? No service, remember.”

  “I don’t know. Just seems like we should cover all our bases.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then rummaged in my backpack for the charger, which we had taken from the gas station. “What now?”

  “We should get cleaned up. You look like an axe murderer.”

  I looked down at myself, at the polo shirt spattered with Walter’s blood. Somehow I’d also managed to get dark smudges of soot from the burned out vehicles on it. “I do, don’t I.”

  “There are showers down the corridor on the left.” Clara pulled a set of fresh clothes from the closet. “We’ll be able to think more clearly once we’ve freshened up.”

  “You go first.” A hot shower sounded good, but I had a feeling Clara needed it more.

  “How about we shower together,” she said, grabbing a shower caddy from one of the nightstands.

  “I don’t think-”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” She blushed a little. “I’m not seducing you. Separate cubicles. I just don’t think we should split up right now.”

  “Oh. Of course.” It seemed like a good idea to stick together, but I also suspected that she didn’t want to be alone.

  14

  THE SHOWERS WERE ARRANGED along one wall of a large white tiled room. There were six cubicles, each with a plain cream curtain suspended from a metal rod. Along the other wall was a row of porcelain sinks mounted under large rectangular mirrors.

  “You can take the shower closest to
the door,” Clara said. “That way if we run into any trouble you can protect us.” She pulled a couple of towels from a locker near the door and draped one over each stall.

  “I’m hoping we won’t have that problem.” I peeled my top off, dismayed to see that Walter’s blood had seeped all the way through and left red blotches on my chest.

  “Me either. But just to be safe…” Clara pulled at the buttons of her work shirt, and then slipped it off, discarding it on the floor. “Won’t be needing this anymore.”

  “What, you don’t think Walter will take you back?” I grinned, a feeble attempt at humor.

  “I think trying to kill your employee is a sure sign you don’t want to work with them anymore.”

  “I’d say so,” I replied, glancing over as she undressed, despite myself.

  She stripped off her khaki pants and dropped them next to the shirt. When she glanced toward me, I averted my eyes, but apparently not quickly enough. “That’s all you get,” she said, and padded toward the second cubicle in her undies, then pulled the curtain closed. A moment later, I heard the steady drum of water as she turned the shower on.

  I followed suit, taking the shower next to her and basking under the hot spray, relishing the way it played over me, soothing and comfortable. “I saw a pile of books on the desk back there. Shakespeare, Capote, and some Hemmingway too I believe. Is that you or your roommate?”

  “Me.” She reached around the cubicle and handed me a container of shower gel. “Literature major.”

  “Really.”

  “Yup. You caught me. I’m a book nerd.”

  “Well if that’s the case I must be one too.” I soaped up, relieved to wash the Walter stains off.

  “Oh really. And what grants you access to the nerd club?”

  I couldn’t see her, but from the way she spoke it sounded like she was smiling, and that was refreshing. “I just got my first book deal.”

  “You’re a writer?” The awe in her voice was evident.

  “No. I’m a barista who happened to find some fool to publish my book,” I replied. “Different thing.”